Tick
by Wholocklolly
Summary: Molly is desperate to see what makes Sherlock tick... PWP dedicated to the ladies in the Sherlolly chat room. One-shot.


**A/N: So we were talking about tickling fights turning into sex earlier on in the Sherlolly chat room (by the way, if you're not in there, you should be) and I figured I'd write a one-shot about it. Shameless PWP.**

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Molly and Sherlock had been together for a little over five months, and he'd already discovered what really made her squeal. It wasn't fair. She would be left in a writhing, moaning heap, whilst Sherlock seemed completely nonplussed, aside from the erection that usually made itself known, but that was a lovely side effect.

Molly was determined to find _something _to drive Sherlock up the wall. She tried dressing up, toys, handcuffs, the works. But nothing ever really made Sherlock lose himself. He was still as poised and unmoving as ever, even a little annoyed by her obvious attempts at making him flustered. She hated how he could read her so easily sometimes.

It had begun with an evening in on the sofa, cuddling and watching telly whilst Sherlock quietly remarked about each and every little misgiving on the programme. Doctor Who was one of Molly's favourites, and she made her annoyance clear by giving him a poke in the stomach. When she saw him flinch and shift slightly away from her, her brows furrowed. And then she got a sort of grin on her face, poking him again.

"Molly," he barked sharply, shying away from her hand. "You've made your point, I'll stop."

Molly smirked slightly because for once, he was giving in and wasn't being an ass just for the fun of it. Clearly, something about his stomach had set him off. So, she ran her hand up and down it, and then pushed her hand up his shirt.

She giggled when he started to squirm, her fingers wriggling against his pale skin. "Oh, I've found it. I didn't realise you were _ticklish_," she teased.

Sherlock was flushed at this point, trying to squirm away but she'd moved so she was straddling his thighs. He was trapped. But he wasn't about to concede so quickly. His hands came up under her armpits, and he even as he continued to squirm underneath her Molly squealed and tried to shy away from his hands.

Both getting stubborn, they manically tickled each other until both parties were a panting, sweaty mess. But Molly having been so adamant about wriggling on Sherlock's lap hadn't gone unnoticed. There was now a sizeable tent in his tight suit trousers. Of course, Molly hadn't gotten off arousal-free. Her cheeks were pink and her breathing was laboured.

It wasn't clear who initiated the kiss first. Perhaps they both thought after such a furious tickling-duel they ought to have some form of release. But Molly's hands went into Sherlock's hair and he groaned when she tugged lightly. Had she just discovered another tick? Tickling and hair pulling, those she could utilise…

But her stream of thought was soon cut off when Sherlock lifted her off the sofa, her legs going around his back as he brought her into the bedroom. "You didn't win," he remarked hoarsely, tone petulant.

Molly managed a roll over her eyes before he was at her neck and she was gasping his name, tugging at his hair. "Sherlock," she grunted out as he laid her on the bed, but she kept her legs firmly around his waist and rolled her hips upwards against his stiff erection that was still covered by his trousers.

He let out a grunt and Molly laughed, which quickly turned into a whimper when he tugged down the hem of her top and sucked at her breast. He heel dug into his arse and she arched into his mouth, writhing slightly.

"Take your stupid trousers off and fuck me already," she gasped out through another heady moan, and Sherlock smirked against her skin, but he obliged. Pulling back, he tugged loose his belt and dropped it on the floor, working at his zip.

Molly had impatiently tugged her top over her head and had her bra unclasped when Sherlock suddenly grab hold of her ankle and tugged. She let out a squeal of surprise and looked up, only to be caught by the mischievous glit in his eyes. He had somehow already gotten off his shirt and trousers, and was now left in his boxers. Instead of removing the last piece of clothing on his own body, however, his hands went to Molly's hips and he tugged down both her trousers and her knickers.

He spread Molly's thighs and her breath started coming in small pants, her fingers desperately knotting in his hair. "God, please," she gasped out.

"Most people call me Sherlock," he whispered out, his breath warm against the apex of her thighs, his voice husky. She let out a whimper and then a grunt, managing an eye roll before her hips had lifted off the bed and she had turned into little more than a moaning, squeaking mess.

The things he did to her.

His lips were hot and heavy against her clit, knowing exactly how she liked it at this point. But God, she would never get over the warmth of his mouth or the precision of his tongue. He drove her well and truly mad, and he _knew _it. Damn him.

Just when she was sure she was going to explode, he drew away, chin and lips glistening. "Fuck you," she whimpered out, toes curling, her fingers tugging at her curls. "This isn't a game you bastard," she babbled, so far gone and hopped up on pheromones and arousal that she really didn't care how desperate her voice sounded.

Sherlock chuckled and Molly tugged him up, her legs going around his waist again. She rubbed herself against his cock as she kissed him hard on the mouth, feeling just a bit dirty when she tasted herself on his lips.

He let out a grunt when she ground upwards against him, and he quickly reached down to position himself before sliding clean in. She let out the softest of noises, tugging at his hair. "Fuck me you bastard," she hissed out, nipping at his collarbone.

He shivered lightly and let out a hoarse, "Gladly." His initial shallow thrusts began to pick up speed and strength, his hips snapping forward with the force of every thrust.

Molly's toes curled and she arched into him, gasping out his name softly. It didn't take much longer for her to reach her end, her nails dragging down his back as she cried out. After a few more quick, hard strokes, Sherlock tipped over the edge, pressing his nose against her neck and groaning softly, his eyes shut tight.

After a bit of arrangement, Sherlock spooned Molly from behind, his chin against her shoulder. "Mm, so I've followed found out your ticks. You're ticklish, and you like having your hair pulled." She grinned and tipped back her chin, stealing a kiss.

He snorted slightly, closing his eyes, his hand smoothing down her stomach. "I was prepared to tell you but I figured it might be a little more interesting to see how far you would go to figure it out."

Molly laughed softly, letting out a yawn. "Mm, the wait was worth it."

He nodded, nuzzling further against her neck as she fell asleep.


End file.
